Page 60 of A Warrior's Fate

“What is she doing? This is her room, right?”

Isla froze and stood tall at the voices. “Sebastian?”

The chatter stopped.

“Pudge?”

Adrien’s voice came next. He’d been the milder of the two. “How did you lock the door?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she moved to wrench the chair from its spot, pushing it back as close to its previous home a few feet from her bedside as she could. The legs made a low, rumbling scrape along the floor, prompting more inquisitive noises from her visitors.

Hiding the blade in her hand where they shouldn’t have been able to see it, Isla reached for the handle and gradually pulled open the low-whining entrance. Her settled scowl was met by equally cautious and dubious looks.

“Where the hell were you?” she seethed, the gnarled grip of her fear edging into her voice. “You said an hour. It’s been nearly three.”

Both Adrien and Sebastian remained in their places on the other side of the threshold, and Isla caught the way Adrien looked her over while Sebastian immediately surveyed the room.

His forest eyes narrowed. “Who are you hiding in here?”

Isla countered it with a heightened glare of her own. “What?”

“I’m having war flashbacks,” Sebastian said, brushing by her and Adrien, taking a few steps inside. “What was all that noise?”

She rested her hand on the doorframe. “You do realize I’m twenty-one and don’t need to have suitors run through you for approval.”

Sebastian’s features curled at the words. “Then find some that aren’t pretentious assholes.”

“Says the pretentious asshole.”

“I’ve earned it.” He pointed to the bathroom, still suspicious. “Why’s the shower still on?”

“Because you scared me, you ass.”

“Obviously.” Adrien’s eyes were on the makeshift weapon in her hand, glinting against the brown stain of the door. “Where did you get that?”

“I borrowed it,” she said plainly.

“Why?”

“Warrior Princess never sleeps,” Sebastian mused before she could answer, flopping onto the chair with a small glance under the bed as he kicked his legs over the arms of it.

The name resounded through her head through another voice, and though she was mildly pleased by that being the taunting moniker Kai had stolen from her brother to utilize, she frowned. Adrien had caught onto it, flashing her an inquisitive and concerned look. It wasn’t enough to force her into the effort of even faking a smile.

“I’m going to change,” she announced and then turned on her heel before he could say anything.

When she’d emerged a few minutes later, again trailed by the residual cloud of steam lingering from the previous flow of water, Isla was donning a nurse’s uniform about two sizes too big, shirt and pants a near-identical shade of blue as the chair her brother was lounging in. Adrien had moved from his previous spot and perched against the storage closet. Their idle chatter—which had either been so quiet purposely or just indiscernible by her in her wavering focus—had died away.

The Heir nodded towards her attire. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I had no other clothes,” Isla deadpanned, working to gather her hair loosely atop her head.

Her brother snickered. “I don’t remember thievery being a part of the Warrior Creed.”

Isla rolled her eyes, electing to simply flip him off before taking a seat on her bed. As aggravated as she was, she was happy to have their company. To have some semblance of normal—even if their conversation would be far from it.

“You’re over two hours late,” she addressed them, “so I hope you have something.”

They exchanged a look.

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